


Willing Spoils

by Kaerith



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: An alternate scene inspired by Lisbeth_laufeyson’s “The Sand Viper.”Nasirdoesn’tsend Agron back after winning the bet. Once Agron spends some time with him, he offers to help Nasir spend the rest of the night in more mutually enjoyable ways.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	Willing Spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisbeth_laufeyson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_laufeyson/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Sand Viper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619340) by [Lisbeth_laufeyson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_laufeyson/pseuds/Lisbeth_laufeyson). 



> While this would take place during “The Sand Viper” chapter 3, there are continuity and characterization differences. Ashur is owned by Solonius instead of Batiatus, and Nasir is pretending that he doesn’t understand as much Latin as really does. His backstory as I have written here probably doesn’t jibe with any backstory Lisbeth may provide in later chapters.
> 
> So, basically, an AU of an AU. Because I was anxious to see bad-ass Season 1 Nasir get it on with Agron. :D
> 
> Anyway, my first Spartacus fic. Unbeta’d. Comments and con crit appreciated!

“Do not hurt him,” Lanista Solonius says slowly and loudly like Nasir is a dog. He turns to Ashur. “Call for guard if needed.” 

Ashur nods and says, “Yes Dominus,” in that oily voice he uses. Everything about Ashur is slippery and Nasir knows that his so-called “brother” is more indirectly dangerous than anyone Nasir must fight in the arena. Still, pretending that he doesn’t understand the Romans’ language is too valuable an act to give up— even if it gives Ashur the power to be the only one Nasir apparently can understand. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Ashur repeats smugly in their native tongue after Solonius has left. Nasir just rolls his eyes at him as Ashur unlocks the door. 

The view of the golden gladiator is breathtaking. He is clean and oiled, on his knees on the sleeping mat with his hands shackled to the wall past his head. His ass is facing the doorway and, by the tension in his shoulders, he is not comfortable with the tableau of helplessness he has been chained in. 

“If you don’t want to fuck him, I will,” Ashur says in Latin for the foreign gladiator’s benefit. He laughs meanly when the chained slave tenses even more at the threat. “I don’t even like men,” Ashur adds in his and Nasir’s shared language, sadistic glee in his eyes as he watches the gladiator twitch. “Still, to have a beast such as this at one’s mercy hardens my cock.” 

Nasir gives him a glare and bares his teeth at Ashur. He gives the scorpion of a human a shove back from the doorway and enters the small chamber. 

When Solonius had asked Nasir (via Ashur) what he wanted, _obviously_ the immediate answer was his freedom. He had glared pointedly at the brand on his arm and then at Lanista Solonius, but all the Roman cunts had just laughed like he had performed an amusing trick. He had been offered any of Solonius’ female house slaves, but Nasir had shown his utter contempt at that idea. He had finally just jutted his chin at a cluster of other gladiators, and their master had offered descriptions of two for Ashur to translate before Nasir finally shrugged and nodded to end the humiliating farce. 

And now Nasir is in a chamber with a warrior who is enraged at being chained and forced to be available for Nasir to presumably fuck. 

Nasir closes the door even as Ashur says, “I’m supposed to remain in the room with you,” and just glares through the barred window at the traitorous shit until he shrugs and steps away with a displeased mutter. 

Now, at least, there is some illusion of privacy. Now Nasir must decide what he is to _do_ with this outraged and terrified man for the night. 

At least Nasir has practice trying to gain the trust of wild beasts. He starts by sitting in a corner, back against the wall the gladiator’s chained to. The man’s head turns to look at him with wary eyes, but Nasir just sits with his legs bent and his arms draped over his knees until the suspense pulling at the very air of the room relaxes by a palpable degree. 

“You plan to just sit there and ignore me all night?” The man grumbles. Nasir just turns his head a fraction to meet his gaze with a touch of amusement visible in his eyes and mouth. He just shrugs, and the umbrage in the man’s face is even funnier. “I thought you were all sharp threat. Maybe you are soft, if only in head.” 

Nasir just lets his lips curve into a stronger hint of a smile and then focuses his attention back on the door across the room. 

The stranger does not like to be ignored. He shifts position several times, clanking the chains and then settles on a similar pose as Nasir, only with his wrists tethered awkwardly to the wall behind him. “I am Agron from East of the Rhine.” Nasir has no idea what or where this Rhine is, so he just shrugs to convey acknowledgment. 

Agron is an impatient and noisy man. He grumbles and curses as he fidgets. He cannot stay tongue to keep silence. He would prefer even violence to quiet uncertainty. “I have heard that you are called Tiberius.” 

Nasir hates that Roman name. He wants to spit at hearing this other warrior call him that. So he does, directing it politely away from Agron but making sure that his disgust is plain. 

“You have other name to offer?” Agron sounds almost kind. Nasir meets his gaze and then pointedly glares at the door. The man seems to understand and he nods. “You wisely play fool,” he muses very, very quietly. “You hope to escape.” 

Nasir is careful not to make any sign of agreement. 

“I hope to earn freedom,” Agron says. “For me and my brother. It... it can be hard to keep up show of belief at possibility.” He lets out a sigh that expresses his weariness at the burden. It is probably a younger brother, Nasir guesses. Someone before whom Agron cannot allow himself the relief of dropping the onus of faith that they will be given a happy end to their slavery. 

After another long silence Agron quietly asks, “You do not trust your man at door?” 

Nasir shakes his head. He is pleased to see that this warrior has intelligence. 

“Why did you choose me if you plan to stay over there?” 

Nasir didn’t mean to specifically choose Agron. He had expected any of the gladiators offered to be snarling beasts unwilling to be mounted and fucked. Had been surprised to enter and see Agron prepared and in position, even if he was silent and trembling. He finds this outcome better than expected, though he is not going to share that fact. 

Instead he just turns his face toward Agron and runs his gaze admiringly over his form. He is surprised to receive a cocky grin. 

“Lucky for you, I am only one among my brothers to prefer fucking men,” Agron says. He licks his lips. “Or even _be_ fucked, if partner is not Roman swine.” 

There is unveiled interest in his voice and expression. Nasir’s loneliness battles with his sense. 

Agron can see Nasir’s will crumbling and he grins, something wild and delightful curving his lips and lighting up his eyes. “I am chained. We have entire night. I am willing. No words are needed between two men such as we. Why not have fun?” 

Nasir can see Agron’s cock getting half-hard. The gladiator rolls onto his back and stretches himself into a straight line of firm golden flesh. He wiggles his eyebrows in such a comical way that Nasir almost laughs. 

The Syrian gets to his feet to undo his subligaculum. The way Agron eyes him heats his blood, but the surpringly eager and puppyish smile is the thing that finally makes Nasir take the risk. 

Agron is fully erect when Nasir straddles his thighs. He leans into the strokes of Nasir’s hands over the battle-scarred skin of his stomach and chest. 

(How long has it been since Nasir has shared gentle touch with another? Since before he had been branded and thrown into the arena. Before he was collared. Before he picked off Romans from the fringes of their caravan of stolen, blood-splattered goods and slaves. Since before the Romans raided and slaughtered his people while Nasir was away on a hunt. More than a year, probably, at this point.) 

The gladiator is unashamed at the noises he makes. He meets Nasir’s eyes with teasing confidence, like they are collaborators on a secret. When Nasir bends over him to touch a thumb to his pink lips Agron obediently opens his mouth. He looks disappointed when Nasir pulls his hand away. 

“I vow to do no harm to you,” the man says seriously. Then adds, “You can put your cock in my mouth without any fear of being bitten,” with sly mirth. 

Fuck, Nasir _cannot_ understand why this man looks so earnest! They should be acting like enemies of rival houses. Agron should be furious at being forced to serve as a whore. Instead, the man’s light-colored eyes look at him with something like fondness. It is utterly confounding. 

“Do you like kissing?” Agron asks. Nasir reels away, leaning back with a frown. The man looks disappointed. “I guess not. I’ll admit that you have haunted my dreams enough that I have envisioned more tender moments between us as well as violent fucking on bloody arena sands.” 

_Dreams?_ Nasir has not been this tempted to break his silence since being captured. 

His surprise must be plain on his face, because Agron just smiles that wide, charming grin again. “My eyes have not cast gaze upon so desirous a form as yours in a very long time. Despite your danger. Or, perhaps, enhanced by it. The nights in ludus are cold and every man must find solace in warm thoughts.” 

This should be making Nasir angry. Since he has been prisoner to the Romans, so many men— free and slave— have eyed him with lascivious intent, their gazes pricking at his nerves and their leers making bile burn in his throat. Nasir earned a reputation before their caravan even reached Roman lands, strangling one lecherous Northern soldier before the bastard could wiggle a single finger under Nasir’s ragged garment. He had been whipped for the killing, of course, but no one had tried to rape him since. 

This man, however... his attention feels different. Nasir’s cock is interested, Agron is chained up and unlikely to be able to harm him, and Nasir can still imagine fighting him in the arena and striking a fatal blow, so he decides he may as well enjoy his reward since he is so willing. 

Nasir feels clumsy at kissing but Agron takes the lead and demonstrates in confident movements how he likes to kiss and be kissed. After only a short time Nasir regrets having Agron’s hands chained— he kisses with such skill and devotion to the task that he wishes the gladiator had the freedom of movement to hold Nasir like Nasir was clutching at his shoulder and head. It is so tempting to imagine this strong man as being a protector, providing a respite from the constant alertness Nasir must maintain for his own safety. 

Agron pulls away so he could give a smile displaying so many teeth that it should feel threatening. “Which would you prefer: my mouth or ass?” 

Nasir feels up Agron’s arm so he can grab one of the gladiator’s wrists and give it a shake to remind him of his helplessness. _It is I who won you for the night,_ he thinks. But Nasir finds that he cannot hold his haughty expression for long. 

Of course the other man notices and laughs. “Yes, I am willing spoils! Eager to serve you only because I find you a man of honor and kind heart. If we find mutual satisfaction once, then you may persuade me to please you another way after a rest.” 

Nasir feels a bit insulted at Agron’s amusement and has the sudden desire to make him cease talking. He moves up Agron’s body and feeds the man his cock. The gladiator is good at the task, and Nasir deigns to reward him by reaching behind himself and circling his hand around Agron’s shaft. Nasir comes first, arching back as his balls pulse with the force of his orgasm. When he slumps forward and opens his eyes again he sees the twin tracks from the corners of the German’s mouth where saliva and seed overflowed. Nasir uses a finger to wipe up the slick trail on Agron’s left side and the man parts his lips to lick his finger clean. It is such a dirty and debasing act, but Agron’s eyes practically glow with how erotic he finds it. They repeat the same process for the other trail, then Nasir lets himself give Agron a small smile before he repositions himself to kneel at the ready to suck Agron’s cock. 

The Northerner squirms, his eyes wide open and surprised. “Fuck! Please do it!” 

Nasir cruelly holds out just to listen to Agron’s shameless begging before he laves the man’s flesh with his tongue, licking up the shaft and curling it around the crown first. He barely closes his lips around it when Agron’s body seizes and spurts. Unlike Agron, he isn’t fond of swallowing, so Nasir picks up stroking him with a hand until the German flinches away as he turns to spit the mess onto the stone floor. 

Nasir dozes off for a short while. He doesn’t know if Agron does, but the man is awake and giving him that unexpectedly charming smile when Nasir looks again at his face. 

“Dawn nears,” Agron says. “One real fuck before I am dragged back to ludus?” 

He can hear someone on the other side of the door laugh. Nasir ignores it and nods. While he retrieves the pot of oil that had been left in the chamber, Agron goes back into the position he was in when Nasir first entered. This time, however, there is nothing fearful or forcibly submissive in his posture. The gladiator turns to look at Nasir and grins again, shaking his hind end at him like a happy dog. Nasir rolls his eyes and hides (most of) his amusement. 

Nasir hopes that it was Agron himself who had applied the oil the previous night. He makes sure to make every touch and movement something expected and pleasurable. The way Agron groans and pushes back onto his fingers makes Nasir think that he is succeeding. He knows that the man is ready when he growls out, “You take too long, hoplomachus!” 

Nasir slaps him and watches the large, golden man shake with quiet laughter. “I have feeling that, were you to speak, your tongue would be as sharp as your spear!” 

The German warrior’s body welcomes Nasir’s cock with smooth heat. Nasir has never had so large a lover, so he puts his hands and mouth to work in case his cock is insufficient. (It clearly isn’t, according to the filth Agron spouts quietly and sporadically, but Nasir has had lazy partners in the past who did little besides use their cocks, thinking that length was all that mattered in sex. He is determined to never be so lackluster a partner.) 

Agron’s nipples are sensitive, and Nasir gives them some attention with his fingers. When the man curses at him to stop with that teasing, Nasir grips him by his hips and pulls him back as he thrusts in deeper and harder. When Agron’s words devolve past his mother tongue and into nonsense syllables, Nasir puts an oiled hand around his cock and lets him lead the pace of their activity. Nasir pulls out the moment Agron climaxes and finishes himself off with the same hand he had used on Agron until he spurts his release on the gladiator’s back. 

“I find myself well satisfied,” Agron finally says after their breaths have evened out. He rolls onto his side to face Nasir and props his head on his own arm. “If you ever are offered a prize again, I volunteer gladly. I believe you show even more skill with small spear than longer one on the sands.” His face is soft and teasing and his spoken vowels rounded with humor at his own joke. 

Nasir cannot believe that this other slave has such a light heart and busy tongue! How has Agron kept himself from fragmenting into rage and madness while in collar and chains? Every time Nasir sees Lanista Solonius’ florid face he feels like he only reins himself in by the bite of his fingernails. Everything in his body and spirit strains to put his hands on that Roman fuck’s throat. He feels like everything making Nasir _Nasir_ crumbles away more as each new tide of rage surges within himself. 

“I pray that glare is not one intended for me,” Agron says, his mild tone pulling Nasir from his thoughts. Nasir blinks and turns away from the door and back to him. “Ah.” Agron nods knowingly. He lowers his voice to add, “Every mistreatment and small shame makes fire of anger burn ever hotter. You do not have luxury of trustworthy brothers to soothe inferno.” 

Nasir frowns. No, he decidedly does not. Ashur is the only option if he wants to maintain his ruse, and that Syrian bastard is slimy and two-faced. 

The Northerner eyes him seriously. “If ever opportunity to slip chains and flee or fight to die in freedom comes, I think you would make good ally.” He sighs and lays himself on his back again. “No chance has yet appeared, but hope must burn brighter than even passion for vengeance. Perhaps the Roman cunts will make mistake one day. Perhaps me and my brothers may yet walk from arena with our debts repaid in coin or blood.” He makes a noise of contempt and repeats, _“Debts._ As if Romans pay us anything that deserves to be remitted in any currency other than matching cruelty. Well,” he says in an abrupt change of tone. “If you require more rest, I should shut mouth. 

“There is no repayment the Romans deserve _besides_ cruelty and death,” Nasir agrees quietly. 

Agron looks at him in surprise that Nasir has broken his silence, but nods and makes no comment that their guard can overhear to infer that Nasir speaks Latin. 

“Be assured. You are not like them. They prey on the weak and chained.” He makes his wrist shackles rattle for emphasis. “You did not. You made no advance until permission was given.” 

Nasir shrugs. Yes, he feels no guilt for his actions in this small chamber this night. The deaths of other gladiators, however, weighs more heavily on his conscience some days; but he figures that he would not begrudge _them_ killing _him_ to prolong their own lives, so he has some solace in that. Fucking Agron was an act done more for selfish purpose than survival and, while he is glad the man bears him no grievance, Nasir fears that any weakness he has displayed by showing favor to him will only be used as another piece of leverage to ensure Nasir’s obedience. 

And Nasir knows that a threat to Agron _would_ be leverage against him. Already the idea of having to face the man in combat sends a frisson of terror up his spine and into his throat. The Roman gods have never granted Nasir any favor, and his own childhood ones very little, but Nasir still sends a thought out to the heavens that his dark fears will not come to pass. 

When Batiatus’ man comes to unchain Agron (his expression of disgust at the evidence of their activities enough to make Agron laugh at him), the German gives him a wink and another flash of that silly puppy-face before he is shoved through the door. 

“Enjoy yourself?” Ashur says snidely as Nasir leaves the chamber. 

Nasir grunts. “A decent fuck.” 

Ashur’s laugh is an ugly, filthy thing that makes Nasir want to rip out his tongue. “His loud cries plainly announced _his_ satisfaction. Are you a gentle lover, or are Northern savages simply easy to please?” 

It is a battle to maintain his aura of apathy, but Nasir somehow manages. “If you find a German cunt you may then draw own conclusion. My cock is of little concern to you past point of following Dominus’ orders to keep it safe from trophy whores.” 

That makes Ashur scowl. “I have no interest in protecting you or your cock! It is your idiocy that prevents you from learning Roman tongue and keeps me tending to you like nursemaid!” 

“What was your role in ludus after injury and before you were assigned as my ‘nursemaid,’ brother?” Nasir already knows. Ashur had regained status only because of Nasir’s skill as a fighter. If Nasir no longer needed him as translator and keeper, Ashur would likely be sent off to the mines. 

He could almost feel the air around them turn sour with Ashur’s resentment. “Remember that I am on your side,” Nasir adds. “We owe each other more allegiance based on shared blood than any loyalty imposed by Roman masters.” _Even a thimbleful of loyalty is still more than I will give to Solonius, for all that small gift may benefit you._ Perhaps a mercifully quick death at Nasir’s hand if ever Agron’s hoped-for rebellion comes. Nasir will linger over Solonius’ dying. 

“I owe more to Dominus than to you, feral little asp,” Ashur mutters in Latin. 

Later, when the sounds of rebelling slaves and screams from Roman throats flood the streets of Capua, Ashur remains blinded by the small scraps of prestige doled out by Solonius and defends their captors at that hour of crisis. Nasir is well pleased to sink spear into Ashur once his Dominus’ blood has already wetted it, then to watch Solonius’ face as the patrician begs for mercy before Nasir doles out his fatal blow. 

The relief in his chest when he encounters Agron, free and on the streets if not wholly uninjured from his escape, finally settles that tide of rage inside of him.


End file.
